


Pale Flag

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Just the Scraps [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
Genre: Conspiracy, Faked Death, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Character Death, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: There is a traitor in the Order's command.Someone on the Supreme Council has been leaking information to an unknown entity in an attempt to undermine Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's authority and steer the Order in a direction they prefer.Allegiant General Pryde has vowed to find and eliminate this scum and Kylo Ren is more than happy to let him try.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Just the Scraps [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912891
Comments: 24
Kudos: 117
Collections: Kylux Is Dead: Long Live Kylux





	1. Postmortem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery note re: minor character death in the end notes.
> 
> A note on chapter titles: _Postmortem_ refers to action that takes place after Hux is shot by Pryde. _Antemortem_ refers to action that takes place "behind the scenes" leading up to that point.

Hux wakes in cold storage.

He knew it would come to this but he hadn’t realized it would come so quickly. He thought he had more time. There were still too many pieces moving around on the board and no there was no one to keep them on the right squares. His mind races, trying to account for all of those pieces and where he left them. He’s not sure how much time he’s lost or what shifts have happened in his absence.

Years of work might have been undone.

_ Kylo might  _ \--

Hux closes his eyes against the lurching of the space around him when he begins to turn his head. The sedative in his system is slow to metabolize, he’ll still be feeling it for a while. When he thinks it’s safe to try again, he takes measure of his surroundings. He is graciously alone. Onboard deaths, very surprisingly for a crew of the Finalizer’s size, aren’t frequent, those who are important enough to store even less so. He needs to figure out what shift is on, needs to make his next move. He needs to  _ move _ . This place isn’t secure, even if it’s little used, and he doesn’t know who he can trust.

Hux grits his teeth and turns slowly onto his side. The floor seems so far away. Carefully, he drapes his legs over the edge of the table and searches for the floor with his toes. He almost wishes they’d undressed him before they’d stored his body away. He’d be more confident if he could feel the floor rather than scrape at it blindly with his boot.

Hux gasps and the floor rushes upward to meet him. The impact is almost as shocking at the blaster bolt to the chest that had put him here. He cannot help the pained sound that’s punched out of his gut when he tries to move and freezes when the heavy storage door slides open behind him.

“General!” a soft, musical voice exclaims. “Please, let me assist you.”

It’s surreal when the petite woman that’s found him helps him to his feet. She’s vaguely familiar, but his chemically addled brain won’t let him connect the threads of his memory together. The sickness is worse when he’s upright and he’s not entirely sure he can fight through it.

“I’m sorry, General, I was meant to come administer the reversal,” she grunts and shifts his weight across her shoulders, holding onto his wrist to keep him upright. “But I was delayed by the Allegiant General’s orders.”

“What?” Hux slurs, confused. His stomach lurches.

“Pryde -- he ordered all commanding officers up to the bridge. I really don’t know how he expected us all to fit, it’s like he has no idea how this ship functions…” Hux wants to laugh and he chokes it down along with the bile burning the back of his throat. The pair of them shuffle from the cold storage room into the examination area it’s attached to. “He gave a rather loquacious address about traitors and eliminating threats from within.” 

She looks pointedly at Hux for a moment and familiarity pings somewhere in the back of his head -- remembering her identification card as he went through the files of officers he and Ren could bring into their scheme. They’d needed someone in the medbay and the chief of staff had long, old ties to Arkanis. Hux’s reminiscence is brief. His stomach lurches and he can’t choke the bile back this time. His savior shoves him toward the large, deep utility sink they are standing near. He retches until he feels empty, horrified at the mess in the sink when he’s finished. His ally reaches around him to run the water, washing away the evidence of their presence, and straightens him up again to consider him.

“There’s no way we can move you right now.”

“Give me the reversal.”

“At this point it will just make you sicker. We need you on your feet, General.”

“So what are we going to do?” he rasps, his throat on fire. “Stick me back in the fridge?”

“I’m going to stash you in the infectious disease ward.”

“You’ll do  _ no such thing _ ,” Hux pushes through his teeth in a rain of spittle. “I didn’t survive Pryde to be killed by some microscopic organism.”

“It’s empty at the moment, General, I assure you -- and probably the cleanest place on the ship even when someone is occupying the ward.”

Hux can’t object much further. The medical chief  _ shushes _ him and pain lances through his chest. It’s a mercy when they hobble into the ward, miraculously unseen. With shaking hands, Hux takes off his belt and unzips his jacket while she draws the curtains over the observation ports and punches in security commands to the access panel. Hux thinks he’s going to be ill again. Not nauseous, but sick with pain. He fumbles with the velcro closures of the vest beneath his uniform. The fabric is impregnated with cortosis -- strong enough to deflect heat and cutting plasma, although incredibly fragile -- and if his chest didn’t hurt so damn much he might laugh that such a fickle thing had saved his life.

“General, I need to examine you. You look like death’s frozen over.”

“Ma’am, not to be entirely obtuse but you’ve just pulled me out of the morgue.”

She purses her lips and it looks like she’s trying to keep from smiling. “Your breathing doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s fine,” Hux wheezes.

“Lift your arms again?” Hux hesitates, starting to raise his elbows, and stops. “Mm, thought so.” She opens a drawer and produces a set of scrubs. She holds them out to him and takes the discarded pieces of his uniform away from him. She ignores Hux’s quiet shriek of indignation when she opens the incinerator chute and drops them inside. “Come now, I need the rest of it.”

“You can’t -- “

“General, you are  _ dead _ . You do not require a uniform.” She watches Hux struggle with the scrub top for a moment before she silently helps him get it down over the back of his head to cover himself. “Please, General.”

Hux looks down at himself and he can’t ignore the massive bruise spread across his chest, peeking up from the  _ V _ -shaped collar of his scrub shirt. He purses his lips and closes his eyes. He tries to take a deep breath and his chest is filled with more agony than air. He lifts one foot off the floor, offering it up as acceptance and apology and waiting for help to remove his boots.

“Thank you, General,” she says and activates the EmDee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag does not refer to Hux. At some point in the narrative the events on Kef Bir end very differently and on the Steadfast a different traitor meets their fate. Kef Bir is off-screen action.


	2. Antemortem

“There is a traitor in the fold,” Kylo says. He keeps his tone low and his expression as neutral as he can manage. He looks around at the Council, pulled from their beds and assembled in the middle of the rest shift. They are beautifully disheveled with their coats and boots thrown over their sleeping clothes and casuals. Hux alone is put together and his pristine state stands out almost too much. Kylo narrows his eyes at his General for just a beat longer than the rest before he continues. “They have been feeding information to my enemies.  _ Our _ enemies. Those who would see the First Order and her command wiped from the fabric of the galaxy for their own advancement.”

“We’ll dispatch an internal investigation at once,” Griss assures. The deep frown etched on his face sinks even deeper at the notion.

“Absolutely,” Engell nods along. “I’ll begin interrogating the troopers immediately. Starting with officers will be best, I think.” Kylo wonders just for a moment what Captain Phasma’s response to these accusations would have been. Engell is competent, of course, but not nearly as cold and cutthroat.

Kylo wonders for a moment if Phasma might have been part of the conspiracy that he was trying to root out.

He stops and takes a deep breath. He counts to ten, just to feel the Council members squirm under his gaze in the silence. They don’t respect him in the least. He hasn’t won that yet. But they are afraid of his abilities. They respect his connection to the Force. His silence creeps under their skin and at least one of them is terrified that he is projecting himself into their minds while he pauses.

“None of that will be necessary,” Kylo continues. “It is my belief that the traitor is sitting among us now. Perhaps someone close to us, at most. The information I’ve learned has become compromised was shared only at this table.”

“That is  _ absurd _ , Supreme Leader.” Pryde leans in just fractions to make himself seen. “We have all pledged our loyalty to the Order.”

To the Order, but not to Kylo Ren.

“It  _ is _ absurd, Allegiant General. And that’s exactly why I want this lying scum found and brought to me for…” Kylo isn’t entirely sure what word to use. He doesn’t want to rise to Pryde’s level of imperiousness. “Retribution.”

“I assure you, Supreme Leader, we will find them,” Parnadee says breathlessly and Quinn nods in agreement.

With the Council meeting disbanded, Kylo sits in the empty room and listens to the energy left behind by those who had sat before him and grovelled. It stinks of anxiety that he cannot pinpoint, topped with a garnish of haughty self satisfaction. It’s best not to tax himself too much, he decides. It’s already exhausting trying to keep the new, Dark powers that have been whispering so temptingly to him at bay. He cannot afford to slip because his focus has been drawn elsewhere for too long. The traitor will show themselves in time, they always do.

In the small hours just before the end of the rest shift while Kylo tries to use the time for its intended purpose, the visitor alert chimes. Annoyed but not surprised when he glances at the security feed, Kylo okays the entry on the selection screen of the datapad and peels himself out of bed. “General,” he greets when Hux steps inside.

“I sent the transmission as you asked. They were surprised to hear from me again so soon.”

“You made sure to use the tracked com hub?”

“Yes. I almost think it will be too obvious.” Hux crosses from the door and takes a seat on the low couch in the little common area.

“I agree, but until now our traitor has kept themselves too well hidden. They’re undermining the work you’re doing with the Resistance and they’re going to get us all killed.”

“Or worse.”

“Worse than death?” Kylo sits across from Hux. It’s not as warm outside of his bedchamber and his bare skin prickles with gooseflesh. He starts to rub his arms and then crosses them, trying not to fidget. He needs sleep.

“Taken prisoner. Whether it’s by the Resistance or by whomever it is that our turncoat is reporting to.”

“The Dark thing.”

Hux nods. His frown creases his mouth and his brow and he looks as exhausted as Kylo feels. He seems lost in thought for a moment and Kylo can feel the gears of his mind turning over all that they learned during the brief meeting of the Council. Hux had been the one to think of pulling them out of bed. It had been brilliant, Kylo would have to concede. They were all tired, their minds less guarded, their agitation high. They’d all given up a wealth of information without realizing it.

“It should be simple, I think,” Hux muses. “They’re all human. Fallible. None of them have the Force. Whomever is most motivated to find me out should be our lead suspect, or at least lead us to them.”

“I’d like to think the members of the Supreme Council are more sophisticated than that.” Hux smirks. The rare break in his straight facade is titillating. Probably more than it should be if Kylo were not otherwise distracted. “You were able to back-trace the signal?”

Hux nods. It wasn’t difficult when he was volleying messages to the edges of the galaxy. There were only a few places that far out on the Rim that could transmit or receive a reliable signal. It would have been obvious if they were bouncing their own signals. They would be able to triangulate at least where some of the Resistance’s operatives were and eliminate them if they needed to.

Small victories.

They discuss their next moves. Hux will continue to feed the Resistance scraps of information: just enough to keep them aware of major movements and keep them close enough to observe -- but nothing important enough to put any sort of real dent in operations. He’ll move back to his secure channel. Now that the bait has been laid, it’ll be important to track who exactly is trying to skim Hux’s communications. Kylo will continue to appear ignorant, to demand the Council police itself and bring the traitor to him.

Maybe in the course of their scheme, someone might actually find out the real traitor.

They might never have to enact their contingency plan. They’d both rather not. The nebulous trust between them is still coming back together, the gravity and static attraction of it all working much more slowly than it had so many years ago when there was not so much offense between them.

Before mutual challenges of life for power.

Hux pauses on his way out the door. “You know,” he starts in a low tone. He’s just barely audible. It’s purposeful, Kylo realizes, forcing him to step closer and listen carefully. “We might have avoided this if you’d named me Grand Marshall -- put me above them. I could have helped quash it before it started.”

Kylo steps up to Hux, speaks close to the side of his face. He watches Hux’s hair ruffle with the flow of his speech. “I think this was going on long before I killed Snoke.”

“Now they just have the freedom to come out into the sunlight.”

“And when it’s over… when I am Supreme Leader of more than just the First Order -- then you’ll be above them all.”

Hux looks at Kylo from the corner of his eye for a moment before he turns and presses a dry, uninteresting kiss against Kylo’s mouth. “It’ll serve you to remember that promise.”


	3. Postmortem

“Well, you’re in terrible shape, General.”

“Am I?” Hux wheezes. “Hadn’t noticed.” It’s difficult to shift in bed. Sitting upright hurts and so does lying down. 

Chief Medical Officer Aurra casts Hux a withering look and turns back to the data screen she’s considering. “I’m sure you can gather that you’ve got a massive bruise.” Hux groans in response. “That’s just the icing on the cake. Couple broken ribs and -- get this -- you’ve managed to bruise your damn lungs.” She turns back toward him and lifts a finger to emphasize her point. “Good news, though, you don’t appear to be concussed.”

“Well, if that’s all then.”

“I don’t think it’s  _ too _ severe. You’re not turning blue or coughing up blood.” She picks up his hands and turns them over in her own, examining his fingertips. She leans in close pinches his cheek and watches the flesh spring back and the color change. “I’m going to give you something for the pain. It should help keep your lungs from filling up with fluid too. Don’t want you drowning on dry land. And you’ll need oxygen.”

Aurra moves toward a secure cabinet and presses her thumb to the lock. It clicks open and she scans a vial from inside. She hands it to him and watches him tip the milky white liquid inside onto his tongue. He can’t have much, she explains. She doesn’t want his breathing depressed any more. Next she opens the cabinet behind the bed and opens a value. Immediately there is the soft hissing sound of gas release. She leans over Hux with a mask and strong-arms it over his head against his protests. He’ll wear it, she tells him, or she’ll let the Supreme Council know that the traitor is still at large.

Hux can barely contain the fury that bubbles in the pit of his stomach.

“Good,” Aurra says with her mouth pursed in a haughty expression. “You’re angry. You’re feeling like yourself in spite of it all.” When she asks Hux if he’s eaten at all since first shift he confirms he hasn’t. He doesn’t object as much when she hooks him up to a vitadrip -- it’s as if the moment the chemical cocktail of vitamins hits his bloodstream he feels exceedingly better. She’ll allow him to have a tube of nutrient calorie paste when the nausea from the sedation has completely subsided. “When I come back I’ll bring the com unit you left with me. For now you should rest.”

Hux hates that he has to agree. He belongs in his office, with all of his resources, bringing Pryde into the light and cutting him off at the knees.


	4. Antemortem

“It’s Pryde, I’m sure of it.” Hux paces across the room from one end to the other, determined to wear a track into the polished steel.

“I agree.” Kylo sets down the stack of printed flimsifiles he’s been going through. They're the only really secure way to store information. He’s kept them carefully hidden in his bedchamber. It’s the only truly private space he has. His common area feels like it has a revolving door on it the last handful of cycles.

It’s taken several weeks, but they’ve compiled every piece of evidence they can -- everything points toward Pryde: The movement of credits into his reserve forces. The commissioning of new craft. The stockpiling of weapons and ammunition. The manufacturing of new armor. New communications tech. New data storage. New. More.

All disappearing.

Pryde’s communication patterns have been suspect as well. With increasing frequency he’s been using private, heavily encrypted communications channels. Even the best of the Order’s communications specialists haven’t been able to figure out where the signals are going to or coming from. It’s the _unknown_ that is the most concerning. Who exactly is Pryde colluding with? Is he acting against the Order? Is he attempting to seize power?

“We could use someone inside his reserves.”

Hux scoffs and sits down hard enough to jar the mattress, making Kylo’s body sway and a stack of flimsi slip over the opposite edge. “He’s not a stupid man. He won’t have anyone too far-flung with too much knowledge. That would be dangerous -- the further away, the less control he has.” Hux pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “I feel like I’m trapped in a five-credit mystery novel.”

“Some of those aren’t so bad.” Hux glares at Kylo and he looks like he’s going to shout. “They certainly got me through some rough nights at Skywalker’s temple.”

Hux deflates, the fight gone out of him in a matter of heartbeats. “I used to read them, too. At the Academy.”

Kylo can’t help but laugh. “Do you think those kids would have ever thought they’d be where we are now?”

Hux considers it seriously for a moment longer than Kylo’s joke really necessitates. “I always believed I was destined for rule. Everything I ever did was to put myself on… well, perhaps not _this_ path. I had no intentions to allow a _Kylo Ren_ to get in my way. I suppose I’ve disappointed my younger self.”

Kylo swallows the irritation that flares along the back of his throat like bile. “Maybe you _are_ the traitor.”

Hux’s mouth curls into something truly ugly. “Maybe I am.”


	5. Postmortem

“No,” Hux can hear Aurra saying just outside the door. “You cannot enter this ward.”

“But I’m the  _ infectologist _ , ma’am, I believe it’s my duty to examine this patient. I don’t understand why I wasn’t called in to consult -- or why I can’t find any sort of record of their admission to the ward.”

“There must be a glitch in the system. I will personally take the issue up with technical.”

“But, ma’am, I --”

“If you do not leave at once, I will write you up for insubordination. This patient is extremely ill and I do not want anyone else exposed to them until I have discovered the root cause.”

Hux can hear her murmur something, but it’s far too low to distinguish what’s being said. He’s too loose and relaxed to care much. The pain medication he’s been given is sublime. He’s not high, not exactly. But his body does feel light, his thoughts don’t feel as heavy. He adjusts the oxygen mask over his face. It’s put deep grooves in his skin and he bruises like tree-ripe fruit.

Aurra slips inside the room and forces the door shut, hooking her fingers against the edge of the viewport and pushes it along the track faster than the mechanics move it. “Stars, they’re a pest. I apologize, General, I’ve been held up. I believe the Supreme Leader is no longer aboard.” She pulls the comm she promised Hux from her pocket and places it in his hands. She peeks at the purple splotch on his chest and discretely presses her fingers to his wrist while she watches some data feed above his head. “Your oxygen saturation has improved a bit. I do wish we could just dump you in a bacta tank.”

“I can’t be useful if I’m in an induced coma in a bucket of overly sweet goop.” He almost laughs at his own sarcasm. Aurra shakes her head. “What did you tell that person to make them go?”

The Chief Medical Officer looks down at Hux very seriously, considering her answer. “I told them I suspected it was the same illness that took the senior General Hux.”

Hux coughs painfully into his mask, fogging it up and making his face feel wet with the condensation. “Do you know where Ren went?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Evidently he left very abruptly. The hangar crew is in an uproar.”

Panic seizes Hux’s chest and he pretends not to hear the increase in rate on the monitors. Aurra ignores it, too.

“The Allegiant General has taken control of the ship.”

Hux grimaces. “Well, it was his to begin with, I suppose.”

“Sir, if Pryde finds --”

“You do what is in the best interest of the Order.”

“Yes, sir.” Aurra turns away for a moment, her arms crossed in an anxious hug. “General, our agreement --”

Hux pulls the oxygen mask down to be heard more clearly. “Our agreement stands. The credits have already been sent to a secure account on Scipio. All you’ll need to do is go there and present your credentials. The account key is your fingerprint.”

“But my --”

“My contacts on Arkanis are on notice to collect your family and take them to a safe location.” Aurra turns back to Hux and clucks her tongue in displeasure. She tells him to put the mask back on, a look of consternation on her face. “I pay my debts to those who follow through, Doctor.”

Chief Medical Officer Aurra nods, satisfied with the reassurance offered by the broken man in the bed. “I have to go pretend to discipline someone in tech.”

Hux laughs and cringes at the painful sting in his chest and wonders if he might be better off dead?


	6. Antemortem

“He’s getting close,” Hux says while he gazes unseeingly out of the viewport. His quarters are cramped, nothing like his comfortable suite on the Finalizer. He can practically feel Ren behind him, breathing on him. Or, at least he had complained as such the first time they had met privately here. Kylo’s suite has been watched as of late, the troopers who patrol the corridor a little too interested in the comings and goings of staff and officers to the Supreme Leader’s private sanctuary. They’ve carefully checked Hux’s quarters for surveillance, arranged their meeting time during a change of shift when they are least likely to be seen. “He’s threatened to take punishment for the traitor into his own hands. He thinks of it as a personal affront.”

“He’s come to believe that he _is_ the Order.” Kylo watches Hux’s lip curl in the pale reflection on the transparisteel. “I’ve heard he thinks I’m not strict enough in punishing those who go against us.” Hux’s brow lifts toward his hairline and he looks over his shoulder with an expression of disbelief. Kylo shrugs. It’s all posturing. Pryde wants power, just like anyone else. He’s not so different from Hux, not so different from Kylo. “I think we need to accelerate this operation of ours. We need to force him to make a definitive move. He’s gotten too comfortable.”

“I agree, but I don’t exactly want to put my life on the line simply to catch him at his own game. I don’t think at this point it would be too hasty to simply execute him.”

“We still don’t know who he’s been siphoning resources to -- whose command he’s been under. If I just kill him, then we start from square one.”

Hux sighs and sits down on the edge of his bed. He stares hard at the floor for a moment before he looks up at where Kylo is seated at the tiny workstation. “How do you propose we accelerate things?”

“We go directly to the Resistance and give them something tangible. Something they can physically hold, no more whispers. We’ll give them an actual, valuable piece of information on a device we can track.”

“They’re not fools, Ren. Nor is my contact -- he’ll never hand something over to them without scanning it.”

“That’s why the device itself is the tracker, not any data on it. Harder to scan for, and if it’s housed inside a drive and they go looking, they’ll destroy the information before they can read it. But I don’t think they’ll dig that far. They trust the information you’ve been giving them -- they trust _you_.”

“They don’t know it’s me.” Hux barks a laugh. “Can you imagine how they might react if they knew?”

“They’d either never trust another spy again or they’d start celebrating the end of the war prematurely.”

Hux cracks a genuine smile for just a second before he’s serious again. “Pryde’s been carrying his blaster on the bridge. Against regulation, of course, but he knows no one will say anything about it.”

“Do you remember the armor I commissioned for my meeting with the Banking Clan?” Hux nods. “Lightweight, discrete. Blast resistant, to a point. If I recall correctly it was fairly adjustable.”

Hours later, two shifts come and gone, Hux walks just one pace behind Kylo toward his suite. _You’ve seen nothing_ , he thinks, pressing the notion into the minds of anyone they pass and smiling to himself when they stumble back, blinking in confusion as the pair of them sweep past. Kylo will never cede the fact that influencing so many in sequence, holding them for such long moments in his sway, is exhausting.

The armor isn’t hard to find. Kylo has very little, his closet rather bare. He doesn’t need much. The armor is toward the back of the closet, crooked on the hanger. He’d felt foolish wearing it but the Supreme Council had insisted. Some battles are better left unfought. 

Hux sheds his belt and jacket, slips the suspenders off his shoulders. He starts to yank the faded grey A-shirt out from his waistband and stops. He smooths it back down and turns toward Kylo, his expression carefully neutral. Hux’s body is rigid while Kylo slips the light, flexible armor over his head and adjusts the straps down until it’s snug against his torso. His muscles tighten and twitch when Kylo brushes his bare arms in the process. Hux touches the vest, bends and twists. He slips his jacket back on and fastens his belt in place. The armor is hardly noticeable. If Hux wears his greatcoat, as he is wont to do, nothing will look amiss.

Hux clears his throat and Kylo stops himself from reaching out to adjust his collar. “Stars willing,” Hux murmurs. “Pryde won’t go for the head.”


	7. Postmortem

The small com device that Hux has tucked beneath his thigh for safekeeping is a cold comfort. 

It is a direct line to Ren.

Ren will come back. He will reclaim the  _ Steadfast _ and the Order.

Hux will not be found out. He will not be smothered where he lays and catapulted into the vacuum of realspace before the ship moves to some more strategic location of Pryde’s determination.

Hux breathes into his oxygen mask and grimaces through the pain that the slowly ebbing medication leaves him with. He has been in the dark. He knows that Ren has been communicating with someone outside of the Order. He has trusted, however hard that trust has come, that Ren’s choice to leave him ignorant of the workings of the greater picture has been for the greater good -- for the integrity of their secret operations -- for Hux’s own safety.

Hux’s only duty has been to die.

To remain dead until the time is right to stride onto the bridge, whole and resurrected.

Hux wonders fleetingly what became of the pair of troopers who hoisted him off the ground by his limbs and hauled him bodily to the medbay. He remembers little else between being struck by the blaster bolt and waking in storage beyond a startled jerk to his body --  _ He’s breathing, _ came the astonished, anonymous voice through the trooper’s helmet.

Hux is yanked from his ruminations by the com buzzing to life, the noise of it dampened between his thigh and the mattress. With clumsy hands he fishes it out and answers the call. Ren’s bare face is blurry with static artefacts. The image shivers and blinks. He is either very far away or on some Force-forsaken planet with a high rate of atmospheric electrical interference. Hux smirks behind his mask, imagining Ren stranded on stormy Arkanis.

“General,” Ren finally greets. The audio doesn’t quite match up, the image trailing just a fraction behind. “You’re alive.”

“Mostly.”

“Things have gone to plan, then. Pryde is no wiser for his efforts. I’ve received new tracking for the ship. You’re headed in a very interesting direction.”

“I wouldn’t know, Supreme Leader. No one delivers briefings to corpses.”

“Aurra hasn’t --”

“She has kept me as informed as is possible for her position.”

Ren nods and looks pensive for a moment. “I’ll be returning to the ship in due time. The Knights should arrive ahead of me. They have instructions to detain the traitor. Once they have control of the bridge it should be safe. They will halt her travel and hold her position.”

“We’re sure you can trust them?”

“For the moment.”

“Seems the trend.”

“Just stay out of sight until the ship is secure.” Something shifts in Ren that’s obvious even this tiny, radiation damaged hologram. “We will take back the Order.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Hux presses his lips together to hold back the violent cough he feels building in his chest until the com link has dropped.  _ Stay out of sight _ . What else can he possibly do in the state he’s in? He knows he’s not fit for service. Not right now, at least. If he were still under Brendol’s command, he’s almost positive the Commandant would have instructed Aurra to simply let him live or die. It would have been no skin off his back.

Hux would have done the same, he thinks.

Hux dozes, falling in and out of consciousness in micronaps. Hours tick by, if his perception of the chrono on the opposite wall is correct. Without warning, as alarms tend to be, the main lights dim -- the romantic red glow of a complete lockdown fills the room. Satisfaction curls the corners of his mouth as the automated voice of the computer mainframe reads out alert codes and orders all crew to report to their assigned stations.

Aurra sweeps into the room, out of breath. “It’s happening, sir.  _ Something _ is happening. I don’t know what, yet. I’m securing the ward as a precaution, I have to report to the main medbay station. I’m --”

“Go, Aurra. Don’t draw any unnecessary attention to yourself.  _ Go _ .”

She nods and sweeps from the room once more. The door slides shut and there is a heavy  _ clunk _ when the ward’s locks engage. All Hux has left to do is wait. To live or to die. To take back the Order or watch it as it slips through his fingers on the barrel of a blaster. The minutes on the chrono become entirely meaningless.

Hux can hear the ward doors screech, resisting some kind of force. There is nothing Hux can immediately recognize as useful as a weapon. No scalpels, no bone saws, no syringes or bottles of fluids he might break. With effort, he sits up in bed and swings his legs over the side. He’s not going to face Pryde lying down. With a stroke of inspiration, he slips the elastic of his oxygen mask over his head and yanks the tubing from the connection port under the chin. He wraps the loose end of the thin plasto tubing around his hand and closes his fist.

He’s ready.

The door of Hux’s room squeals and screeches. The mechanism of the security locks crashes within the wall, disengaged by brute force. Hux tightens his fist. It’s not as good as a garrotte but it’ll do.

Kylo Ren fills the door frame.

He is wet to the bone. His clothes look heavy and his hair is wild, half dry and half dripping. His skin is shifting -- pale and livid and yellowish and pale -- like something inside him is fighting to burst out from beneath. His eyes, once dark and deep, are bright and golden -- full of fire. His mouth is red like he has taken more than one cheap punch in a brawl.

“Ren, you --”

“Silence,” he growls, crossing the room in a few long strides. He towers over Hux, breathing heavily. His eyes roll -- in pain, in ecstasy, there isn’t much difference with Ren -- and his nostrils flare. “Stars,” he breathes. “I can  _ feel it _ .” 

He grips the front of his tunic and water squelches from the fabric. Sitting as he is, the water drops onto Hux’s arms and slips over to fall onto his legs, soaking into the fabric of his scrub pants. There is a hole in Ren’s tunic and Hux wants to say something about it. The flesh visible there is pink, bright like it might be warm to the touch, a very fresh surface burn.

Hux must shift back to accommodate the way Ren leans in close. His big hand lands on Hux’s chest, entirely knocking the wind from him. Ren squeezes his eyes shut, trembling, and pushes his hand down harder. Hux shouts, the pain of his lungs and his ribs too much to bear under the pressure of Ren’s body bearing down on top of him.

Ren’s eyes fly open and it’s like time has halted. The irises, molten gold when he arrived, burn into Hux with cold, cutting silver -- sharp and thin as a blade’s edge around impossibly wide pupils.

Hux’s body floods with warmth. It builds along with his distress, growing hotter with each  _ thud _ of his heartbeat against his eardrums. And then…

And then there is  _ nothing _ . It’s  _ normal _ . There is no heat,  _ no pain _ . Ren shudders out a breath and that precious metal hue leaches back into his eyes, flowing like storm clouds. He steals his hand back, abruptly, and winces. He holds his own chest, breathing heavily and swaying and fighting through something.

Hux touches himself, sliding his hands up beneath his scrub shirt. Nothing hurts. Nothing is tender. Disbelieving, he yanks the shirt up over his head and his chest is a ghostly pale swath of smooth, unblemished flesh. He kneads at his ribs, searching for the breaks and he cannot find them.

Ren reaches out, a tremor shaking his hand, and brushes his fingertips across Hux’s sternum. His face is soft and serene like it was some night years ago, before Snoke drove his wedge of distrust and hatred between them -- high on glitteryl and fucking. He shakes his head and blinks, physically removing the expression from his face. “Get dressed,” he orders in the no-nonsense voice of the Supreme Leader. “Meet me on the bridge.”

“I have no clothes.” Ren’s brow crinkles in confusion. “Aurra put them down the chute. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”

Ren nods and steps away, turning sharply on his heel. His wet cape smacks Hux’s knees. “Figure it out, then come to me.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”


	8. Antemortem

They have found themselves the perfect ally, Kylo thinks. The Chief Medical Officer is in a unique position to smuggle people or materials on and off the ship. So many varied things can be hidden in a medical ward.

Hux deserves the credit for making the contact. He spent hours bent over personnel files searching for the right candidate, scrolling and reading and comparing until his eyes were crossed in the glow of the datapad’s screen.

Aurra is an Arkanisian native. From a formerly wealthy family decimated by the Empire’s wars. Her records showed a slow, steady rise from cleaning up vomit to running wards, littered with commendations. She’d enlisted in the Order under Brendol Hux, had worked on the  _ Finalizer _ under Hux the Younger. Kylo had squinted at her identification holograph and it had stirred vague memories of the bright lights of the medbay and sharp, hot instruments debriding the vicious gore of his ruined face.

Hux had started the quiet negotiation with the Chief Medical Officer with the temptation of contraband -- a small box of salty, sweet candy made in the poor, port village Aurra was raised in. She didn’t ask for much in the end: the safety of her family, enough credits to escape with if the entire thing went belly up. When Kylo visited the medbay for the latest of the microsurgeries to repair the nerves of his face, Aurra had attended to him -- her breath smelling vaguely of the soft green chews.

The impact of the blaster bolt against Hux’s chest had ripped a hole in the atmosphere around Kylo. They’d thought it was coming, they’d waited for it, prepared for it as best they could. Kylo had half expected that Pryde would act on his own life rather than Hux -- simply seize control, step over Kylo’s body and up to the front of the bridge.

Kylo stopped where he was, standing there in the corridor with troopers slipping around him like water around a boulder. He opens his mind, reaching out and searching for Hux in the Force, but the Darkness -- Palpatine -- rushes in.

_ The Jedi apprentice still lives. Perhaps, you have betrayed me? _

Kylo carefully schools his thoughts, sticks to the facts. He knows where the scavenger is going. He’ll follow her. He’ll ensure she never reaches her potential.

Palpatine leaves Kylo’s head raw and empty just as quickly as he had filled it. There’s no time, Kylo realizes. No time to see that Hux is safe -- to see that Aurra has done the job she’s been paid for. No time to confront Pryde. Their own acceleration of things is forcing his hand. Kylo gathers his Knights and tells them where they are going -- what he means to do -- how they must act. They confer on the move, making their swift way to the hangar. The crew trips over themselves readying Kylo’s upsilon and the hangar doors are barely raised enough before Kylo punches the acceleration and peels away from the  _ Steadfast _ .

Kylo knows where he’s going. He doesn’t need a navigator or a wayfinder. All he needs is the infuriating door in his head that Palpatine has opened. He takes the violation of his mind and twists it down into a compact window, looking out through scavenger’s eyes as she takes her pathetic band of followers and runs to Kef Bir.

The Knights of Ren are  _ afraid _ when Kylo boards the upsilon again on that rainy, desolate planet. He thinks that they can hear the screaming in his head, too. That they can feel the thing crawling under his skin, begging for release. They give him a wide berth and he takes his place in the cockpit. He begins the start sequence, priming the engine with trembling hands.

“Did you complete your mission?” he asks.

They have. They’ve disabled the Resistance craft, slaughtered the herd of orbak they found at the deserters’ camp. They could not get any closer, the band of traitors and rebels not worth the risk that they might act against the Master of Ren under attack. It was best, they thought, to leave him to his battle.

Kylo nods and pulls back the yoke, lifting the upsilon off the ground. With the scavenger dead -- with General Organa dead -- they’ll be directionless. Their judgement will be clouded by grief. In the air, he sets the craft to autopilot and abandons the captain’s chair. “Leave me on Endor and continue back to the Steadfast. We must assume that Pryde has taken control with General Hux dead. He has no loyalty to myself or to the Order -- he is the traitor, not Hux. He has betrayed us all.”

“What will you do on Endor, Master?”

“I have personal business to attend to.” Kylo twitches and grips the door frame outside of the cockpit, trying to control himself. “I want you to take back my ship. Ready it for my command, take Pryde and the rest of the Supreme Council prisoner and shut down all communications.” Kylo begins to walk away and pauses. "Trust no one."


	9. Dominus Mortis

There is a robe in the narrow closet. The weight of it on Hux’s shoulders feels right. He settles back into his skin almost immediately. Tying the belt tight around his waist, he shoves his feet into the thin, disposable slippers in the bottom of the closet and quits the room.

No one stops him.

In the confusion of the lockdown and the unrest that Ren has left in his wake, no one cares that a patient is roaming the corridors freely. No one notices that there is a dead man walking among them.

Outside of the medbay, aside from the background whine of the lockdown alerts and the pulsing red of the emergency lights, everything is eerily calm and quiet. Hux passes almost no one in the corridors as he makes his way from the medbay to the habitation deck. Those he does encounter pay him hardly any mind. They are too busy running to their stations, reporting to be counted and questioned. It’s like he’s invisible.

Hux’s quarters feel even more cramped than before, like he cannot be contained within the walls of the  _ Steadfast _ , let alone the walls of this small room. He sheds the drab anonymity of his hospital clothes and dresses in his uniform with purpose. With his boots back on his feet and his belt fastened around his waist, he feels whole again. He takes his time, like he has all of it in the galaxy to prepare, and fixes his hair. He rubs delicate moisturizer into his hands, cracked by the sterile air of the infectious disease ward, and slips his gloves on. He studies himself in the mirror, flexing his hands inside the supple leather.

Pryde won’t have the Order. Whoever Pryde was selling them out to -- they’ll be found. They’ll be destroyed.

Hux makes his way to the bridge in a sea of rising whispers. Troopers and command crew alike flatten themselves against the walls -- stumble to get out of his way. They gasp and duck back into doorways and watch him pass in fearful awe.

Is this how it feels to be Ren?


	10. Dominus Vitae

On the bridge, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is flanked by his Knights. The traitors stand silently at judgement, listening as Kylo sentences them for their crimes.

Treason.

Collusion.

Theft.

Extortion.

_ Disloyalty _ .

The assembly of the highest officers aboard the  _ Steadfast  _ is just as silent. Not a murmur passes among them. The viscous pull of fear flows all around them. Kylo closes his eyes, glad for his helmet, and rests his hands on his hips beneath the shelter of his cape. His fingers find the familiar surfaces of his saber, fitting into well-worn grooves in the metal casing. His other hand seeks out the foreign planes of his grandfather’s blade, his birthright, his legacy. 

When his business here is concluded, Kylo will go to Palpatine.  _ He will finish what Lord Vader started _ . Kylo knows that he can win. That he  _ will _ win. He has things that Vader did not have -- could not dream of.

Dominion over death.

The hard-won loyalty of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he believes is his destiny.

The assembly on the bridge gasps when Hux’s steps ring out against the polished floor. They cover their mouths and clutch at their collars in shock.

“This is  _ impossible _ ,” Pryde snarls as Hux strides toward the front of the bridge. He struggles against his bonds -- physical and invisible -- and leans forward as if to rush the risen General.

“Impossible only for a small mind,” Hux snipes. Beneath the emergency lights, illuminated from below by the rows of workstation screens, Hux is a wraith. His pale face reflects the lights and he glows with it.

“Grand Marshall Hux,” Kylo addresses. Hux’s attention snaps into focus on Kylo, his gaze flicking toward Kylo’s face behind the mask. “These officers have been sentenced for treason. I would like you to carry it out.”

“It would be my honor, Supreme Leader.” Hux lays his hand gently on the grip of the blaster in the holster on his belt. With a practiced motion, he flicks the strap open and slides the weapon from its seat. He rests his thumb along the slide, pressing his fingerpad to the discrete scanner above the stop. “To serve you -- and the First Order.”

Pryde protests loudly as he’s forced to his knees by a Knight. “This is an  _ outrage _ ,” he spits as Hux steps closer, looming over him. “I have committed no crimes! I have never betrayed the Order!” He jerks hard, wrenching his shoulders from the Knight’s grip to snarl at Kylo. “You are nothing more than a pawn in a larger game -- I answer to one  _ higher than _ either of --”

Pryde doesn’t finish his empty threat.

With a steady hand and a cold expression, Hux lifts his blaster and fires.

There is a long, slow heartbeat of shocked quiet on the bridge. “Lieutenant Mitaka,” Kylo says, breaking the tension. “Notify janitorial that there is trash to be cleaned off the bridge. The incinerator will do.”

“Yes, sir!” Mitaka jumps to attention and his fingers fly across the datapad in his hands.

“Summon my personal squadron to remove the rest of these traitors to the detention block.”

Mitaka nods, his head bobbing just as fast as his fingers move over the keys. Hux holsters his blaster with care and shoves at Pryde’s crumpled body with his shiny boot. He steps up to Kylo to stand beside him where he has turned to look out over the expanse of realspace outside of the viewport. The Knights begin to clear the bridge, moving anyone non-essential along back to their duties. Somewhere in the hall beyond the bridge, Kylo can hear the distinctive click of troopers’ boots approaching.

Subtly, Hux touches Kylo’s elbow. His hand slips down toward Kylo’s wrist and covers his hand where it rests against the edge of the control panel they are standing before. “Grand Marshall,” Kylo orders softly. “Set a course to Exegol and notify the fleet that the full force of the Order is needed.”

Hux purses his lips, confused. He doesn’t question Kylo’s request. He puts out his hand and an earcom materializes in his palm without a need to ask for one. Hux fixes it in place and shifts down to the screen on the control panel just a pace away.

“Hailing all First Order craft, this is  _ Grand Marshall Armitage Hux _ ,” he begins.

The lockdown alarms quiet and the main lights flicker to life once more. Kylo can feel the hum of the  _ Steadfast’s _ engines beneath his feet as they begin to prime. He closes his eyes and Darkness floods his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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